She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. From the Sha-mien to the yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. "I should never have been what I am, but for you.
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